What does your voicemail greeting sound like? Are you witty, to the point, creative? Mine is basic and to the point. “Please leave a message after the beep.”… Plain Kat. When I was setting up my greeting announcement, I couldn’t decide what kind of voicemail greeting I should record. What voice inflection should I use? I wasn’t sure what “Kat” I would be:
Meow baby…This is sexy Kat…wanna leave me a message.
Hey mon…This is laid-back Kat…just chillin..drop one here.
Hey gangstas…This is rappa Kat…talk at me…afta da beep.
Hello Public…This is businessy Kat…you have 5 seconds to produce a detailed message.
My kids are not good about answering calls from me. Wishy is pretty good about answering (she’s not a college coed yet), but Big C and Colinboy are a different story. They have voicemail greetings that I get to hear every time I call. It didn’t take me long to figure out that they prefer a “little heads up” …a little “call screening” before they’ll answer. Now I feel I have an actual relationship with the voice message kid….that’s the kid I reach when I call.
When I get Chelsea’s voicemail message: She couldn’t sound sweeter… “Hey, this is Chelsea…leave a message and I’ll call you back.” But when I listen, I feel like her voice message to me is REALLY saying: “Hey Mom, this is Chelsea…leave a message and I’ll TEXT you back.” Then she sends me a text…. “What’s up?”
Colin’s voicemail greeting goes something like: “Hey guys …it’s Colin…leave a message and I’ll call you back.” I feel like his voice message to me is REALLY saying: “Hey mom, it’s Colinboy …You have a fat chance in hell before I pick up without knowing what this convo is about. Leave a message and MAYBE I’ll return your call. If you’re handing out money…I’ll call you back in 30 seconds.”
I think from now on, I will start screening my calls, just like Big C and Colinboy. Maybe my voicemail message to them should be: “Hey kids, unless you have a job, acing all your courses or really miss me…I’m not picking up. Leave a message…Love you.”
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Pioneer Women
It is interesting to see Pioneer women in 2008. You’ve seen them in the news…the women from the compound of that whacked-out polygamist ranch in Texas. They look like they stepped out of an ole John Wayne Western …with one big difference…John didn’t have 5 wives and 17 children.
I am not in favor of the polygamist lifestyle. I can’t imagine sharing PaulA with 3 other wives. Unless of course, one of them had to do all the grocery shopping for the rest of our natural lives.
I felt sorry watching the mothers from the compound who were separated from their children while authorities investigated them. I just don’t understand why the women couldn’t have hid their kids and brought them with them. They wear those long voluminous pioneer dresses. “Come on ladies, use your noggin…You could have put those dresses to good use. You could have hidden at least 3 small children under all that garb. And why didn’t you put your bouffant coifed hairstyle to good use? That hair-did is lifted so high…you could have hidden a few small weapons…maybe some rope, a jack knife…to help with an escape plan.” These women need to be a little bit more resourceful.
The thing I found most eerie was when the women talked…they sounded like Stepford wives. Their voices were all the same…very quiet and monotone. They sounded like they had either been brainwashed or undergone a partial brain extraction. And when asked a sensitive question about what takes place at the compound…they would repeat: “The compound is a nice place to live. The compound is a nice place to live”…Yea, keep telling yourself that, sista.
I happen to like the show “Big Love” on HBO which deals with polygamy. In the show, they make the polygamist lifestyle seem so normal. The Happy Polygamist comes home from work and kisses wife #1 and kids…goes through the backyard to wife #2’s house and talks to her and the kids about their day…and then they all get together with wife #3 and kids for dinner. They’re all smiling, joking…and then the Happy Polygamist says “goodnight” and heads to bed with wife #3…(hey, it's her turn) while wife #1 and wife #2 do the dishes.
Maybe I have it wrong. Maybe the polygamist compound in Texas is really like “Big Love”…just routine family life….but wait, that is a television show. Get real Kat!
I am not in favor of the polygamist lifestyle. I can’t imagine sharing PaulA with 3 other wives. Unless of course, one of them had to do all the grocery shopping for the rest of our natural lives.
I felt sorry watching the mothers from the compound who were separated from their children while authorities investigated them. I just don’t understand why the women couldn’t have hid their kids and brought them with them. They wear those long voluminous pioneer dresses. “Come on ladies, use your noggin…You could have put those dresses to good use. You could have hidden at least 3 small children under all that garb. And why didn’t you put your bouffant coifed hairstyle to good use? That hair-did is lifted so high…you could have hidden a few small weapons…maybe some rope, a jack knife…to help with an escape plan.” These women need to be a little bit more resourceful.
The thing I found most eerie was when the women talked…they sounded like Stepford wives. Their voices were all the same…very quiet and monotone. They sounded like they had either been brainwashed or undergone a partial brain extraction. And when asked a sensitive question about what takes place at the compound…they would repeat: “The compound is a nice place to live. The compound is a nice place to live”…Yea, keep telling yourself that, sista.
I happen to like the show “Big Love” on HBO which deals with polygamy. In the show, they make the polygamist lifestyle seem so normal. The Happy Polygamist comes home from work and kisses wife #1 and kids…goes through the backyard to wife #2’s house and talks to her and the kids about their day…and then they all get together with wife #3 and kids for dinner. They’re all smiling, joking…and then the Happy Polygamist says “goodnight” and heads to bed with wife #3…(hey, it's her turn) while wife #1 and wife #2 do the dishes.
Maybe I have it wrong. Maybe the polygamist compound in Texas is really like “Big Love”…just routine family life….but wait, that is a television show. Get real Kat!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Smudge
This is a shout-out for the play "Smudge" that PaulA and I saw at the Eugene Theatre with our good friends LinnyJ and Mickster.
Smudge is a dark, dark, dark comedy…almost jet black…and I’m not talking about the lighting…as a matter of fact, the lighting was set perfectly by their son. (Props to Alex J.) It was the subject matter that was dark…about a young couple who delivered their first baby…not the perfect baby…quite imperfect……no limbs …disfigured…a smudge. The play tackles difficult subject matter regarding what constitutes “a life”…and the expectations of becoming a parent.
There were funny lines…but I didn’t laugh. I cried and couldn’t stop crying. (Don’t worry I didn’t make a scene…I sniffled into my forearms. I didn’t want to get thrown out and embarrass my friends.) Being a parent, I felt the horror and desperation that a new parent would feel in this situation. The young man sitting next to us laughed…and laughed a lot. I’m guessing he isn’t a parent…or even expecting. I wanted to turn to him and say, “Excuse me, but I’d like to talk to you when you have a wife someday with a belly the size of Wally the Whale.” But then I didn’t want to get thrown out for harassing innocent theatre goers. Anyway, I loved it. If you’ve ever read my blog profile you know I like to be emotionally spent ….and I was.
I am sure the playwright wanted the audience to feel uncomfortable….about laughing. It just takes someone to go first to get others to join in. There are those people who laugh when others are hurting…I’m guessing that it is nervous laughter. Whenever I trip, stub my toe, or bang my elbow (Okay, I am kinda clutzy)…Bri laughs...every time. I’m sure Bri would have been chuckling alongside Chucklehead next to us.
It must be so cool to be a playwright and have talent like the young woman, Rachel Axler, who wrote this play. (By the way, she is also a writer for the Jon Stewart Daily Show.) After the play, the actors, set, sound and light designers, and playwrights congregate in the pub. I wanted to run over and rub elbows with her ….hoping some of her talent would rub off on me.
I would totally love being a playwright. I can only imagine it… hob nobbing with other playwrights…discussing our latest works…over a bourbon….while smoking a pipe. Discussing my latest work: Act One, Scene One…opens with a washed-up middle-aged blogger wife and handsome insurance husband on the brink of an empty nest…sitting in separate bath tubs …overlooking a field. Wait, that is a Cialis commercial. Yep….I can totally picture my life as a playwright …
I’ve just got to learn to smoke a pipe and stomach the taste of bourbon….then I’m almost there.
Smudge is a dark, dark, dark comedy…almost jet black…and I’m not talking about the lighting…as a matter of fact, the lighting was set perfectly by their son. (Props to Alex J.) It was the subject matter that was dark…about a young couple who delivered their first baby…not the perfect baby…quite imperfect……no limbs …disfigured…a smudge. The play tackles difficult subject matter regarding what constitutes “a life”…and the expectations of becoming a parent.
There were funny lines…but I didn’t laugh. I cried and couldn’t stop crying. (Don’t worry I didn’t make a scene…I sniffled into my forearms. I didn’t want to get thrown out and embarrass my friends.) Being a parent, I felt the horror and desperation that a new parent would feel in this situation. The young man sitting next to us laughed…and laughed a lot. I’m guessing he isn’t a parent…or even expecting. I wanted to turn to him and say, “Excuse me, but I’d like to talk to you when you have a wife someday with a belly the size of Wally the Whale.” But then I didn’t want to get thrown out for harassing innocent theatre goers. Anyway, I loved it. If you’ve ever read my blog profile you know I like to be emotionally spent ….and I was.
I am sure the playwright wanted the audience to feel uncomfortable….about laughing. It just takes someone to go first to get others to join in. There are those people who laugh when others are hurting…I’m guessing that it is nervous laughter. Whenever I trip, stub my toe, or bang my elbow (Okay, I am kinda clutzy)…Bri laughs...every time. I’m sure Bri would have been chuckling alongside Chucklehead next to us.
It must be so cool to be a playwright and have talent like the young woman, Rachel Axler, who wrote this play. (By the way, she is also a writer for the Jon Stewart Daily Show.) After the play, the actors, set, sound and light designers, and playwrights congregate in the pub. I wanted to run over and rub elbows with her ….hoping some of her talent would rub off on me.
I would totally love being a playwright. I can only imagine it… hob nobbing with other playwrights…discussing our latest works…over a bourbon….while smoking a pipe. Discussing my latest work: Act One, Scene One…opens with a washed-up middle-aged blogger wife and handsome insurance husband on the brink of an empty nest…sitting in separate bath tubs …overlooking a field. Wait, that is a Cialis commercial. Yep….I can totally picture my life as a playwright …
I’ve just got to learn to smoke a pipe and stomach the taste of bourbon….then I’m almost there.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Lipstick Theory
I have read that with the economy being as tight as it is…people are spending less on big-ticket items. They are indulging in the little pleasures of life...so sales are increasing for “vice” items such as beer, candy, ice cream, lipstick and other beauty products. I’m not exactly sure why these are called vice items. I don’t see them as a serious moral failing.
What better way to get out of the slump brought on by high food and gas prices...than a little beer, candy, and ice cream added to the hips…and a little lipstick added to the lips. There’s nothing like a new shade of lipstick for an instant pick-me-upper...although I’m sure PaulA would stick with the beer.
A little tube of lipstick is a woman’s way to splurge to make herself feel better….the names of the lipsticks even add to the decadence. Most lipsticks are named after food, beverages, sex and romance. You never see a tube of lipstick called red. They call it Cherry Desirable or Cherry Tart. Not pink or peach….but Pretty in Pink and Life’s a Peach. Then there’s always…Hot Mama, Triple Chocolate Parfait, Pinch me, Rapture, Promiscuous, Spice It Up.
Interestingly enough lipsticks have always had weird names. Did you know that the most popular lipstick shades in Renaissance England were named Rat, Horseflesh, Turkey, Blood, and Puke? And some names for lipstick colors from 1580 to 1620 were Ape’s Laugh, Smoked Ox, Chimney-Sweep, and Dying Monkey. (Honest…I can’t make this stuff up.) Any marketing guy for Loreal suggesting Puke for a new lipstick today would be out of a job…likity split. (Possible new name for lipstick or ice cream??!)
Whenever I decide to splurge for a new lipstck....I always seem to buy the wrong shade. When I get home and put it on...my new shade looks more like Smoked Ox instead of Spice it Up…so I end up going back to the store and buying more…thus stimulating the economy.
Women unite. We can stimulate this economy…one tube of lipstick at a time. Grab your Hot Voodoo, Dolce Vita, Raisin Hell, and Quartz Kiss....and…
Apply...Smear...Blot
SMACK
What better way to get out of the slump brought on by high food and gas prices...than a little beer, candy, and ice cream added to the hips…and a little lipstick added to the lips. There’s nothing like a new shade of lipstick for an instant pick-me-upper...although I’m sure PaulA would stick with the beer.
A little tube of lipstick is a woman’s way to splurge to make herself feel better….the names of the lipsticks even add to the decadence. Most lipsticks are named after food, beverages, sex and romance. You never see a tube of lipstick called red. They call it Cherry Desirable or Cherry Tart. Not pink or peach….but Pretty in Pink and Life’s a Peach. Then there’s always…Hot Mama, Triple Chocolate Parfait, Pinch me, Rapture, Promiscuous, Spice It Up.
Interestingly enough lipsticks have always had weird names. Did you know that the most popular lipstick shades in Renaissance England were named Rat, Horseflesh, Turkey, Blood, and Puke? And some names for lipstick colors from 1580 to 1620 were Ape’s Laugh, Smoked Ox, Chimney-Sweep, and Dying Monkey. (Honest…I can’t make this stuff up.) Any marketing guy for Loreal suggesting Puke for a new lipstick today would be out of a job…likity split. (Possible new name for lipstick or ice cream??!)
Whenever I decide to splurge for a new lipstck....I always seem to buy the wrong shade. When I get home and put it on...my new shade looks more like Smoked Ox instead of Spice it Up…so I end up going back to the store and buying more…thus stimulating the economy.
Women unite. We can stimulate this economy…one tube of lipstick at a time. Grab your Hot Voodoo, Dolce Vita, Raisin Hell, and Quartz Kiss....and…
Apply...Smear...Blot
SMACK
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Habit Forming
Everyone has at least one habit. Isn’t that part of being normal? The more habits we have…the more normal we are. Well…that’s my take on it. Sometimes habits can be annoying…that is, to other people. I twirl my hair…a habit passed down from my dad. When I used to work OUTSIDE the home…not be confused with INSIDE the home, I would constantly twirl my hair at my desk. A secretary who sat near me subtly let me know that I was driving her CRAZY…. “Did I know that I had an annoying habit of twirling my hair?”
Colinboy has the habit of rubbing his nose when he is reading something or is deep in thought. That would be the OUTSIDE of his nose…not to be confused with the INSIDE of his nose. His pose resembles The Thinker so he totally gets away with his habit…looking very intelligent.
Sweet Wish plays with her ear…that would be the OUTSIDE of her ear... not be confused with the INSIDE of her ear. Her ear has been bent and twisted into many different shapes while reading, studying or relaxing. My favorite contortionist shape is the envelope.
And Big C is a belly button rubber…that would be an INNY belly button...not to be confused with an OUTY belly button. When she was little, I tried to limit this habit…especially when we were sitting in church during the Homily.
And PaulA has a HUGE habit of….hmmmm…can’t think of a single thing that guy does. No annoying habits. Now that is annoying right there. That just isn’t normal...he's not as normal as the rest of us.
If by chance you find yourself like PaulA, without a habit…I would suggest you think OUTSIDE the box…not to be confused with INSIDE the box…to come up with one…to make yourself normal. If you need help with a suggestion…I would like to propose one.
I propose that you read my blog everyday….so that it becomes habit forming. It should be routine. You should power up your computer and automatically go to my blog site, without any thought. It might become a bad habit…but remember you’ll be normal. This suggestion is totally in your best interest.
Colinboy has the habit of rubbing his nose when he is reading something or is deep in thought. That would be the OUTSIDE of his nose…not to be confused with the INSIDE of his nose. His pose resembles The Thinker so he totally gets away with his habit…looking very intelligent.
Sweet Wish plays with her ear…that would be the OUTSIDE of her ear... not be confused with the INSIDE of her ear. Her ear has been bent and twisted into many different shapes while reading, studying or relaxing. My favorite contortionist shape is the envelope.
And Big C is a belly button rubber…that would be an INNY belly button...not to be confused with an OUTY belly button. When she was little, I tried to limit this habit…especially when we were sitting in church during the Homily.
And PaulA has a HUGE habit of….hmmmm…can’t think of a single thing that guy does. No annoying habits. Now that is annoying right there. That just isn’t normal...he's not as normal as the rest of us.
If by chance you find yourself like PaulA, without a habit…I would suggest you think OUTSIDE the box…not to be confused with INSIDE the box…to come up with one…to make yourself normal. If you need help with a suggestion…I would like to propose one.
I propose that you read my blog everyday….so that it becomes habit forming. It should be routine. You should power up your computer and automatically go to my blog site, without any thought. It might become a bad habit…but remember you’ll be normal. This suggestion is totally in your best interest.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Cop on a Beat
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a cop…to have power and authority…to throw someone in the slammer. Some cop assignments are not very appealing, but whenever I see a cop cruise by me on the highway…I wish I was an enforcer, a 5-0, a Bad Ass, Fuzz, Heat, Po…anyone of those.
It must feel great to put the pedal to the metal and blow by us poor saps pretending to obey the speed limit. Sometimes you see a cop cruising down the highway…with their light off…they’ve suddenly come up behind you from out of the blue. You take a quick glance in your rearview and see ‘the Heat’ bearing down on your bumper. Your heart skips a beat…so you move over into the slower lane…knowing your time is up. Then ‘the Enforcer’ flies by…never even looks at you….let alone pulls you over. Whew!! You know what has just happened…you don’t even have to guess. His wife called and said his dinner was getting cold. It’s his favorite….chicken pot pie.
One cop assignment that I would never want is to be a cop on horseback…riding Ole Silver. I get a charge out of cops riding horses in cities like Boston and NYC. I think they look funny sitting up there, especially when the horse lets it go…or starts peeing like Niagara Falls.
A cop on a bike…really gets my gears going. First of all, they look out of place wearing their biker’s helmets and shorts. They look like kids who decided to play “cop-on-bike” for the afternoon. ‘Hey cop…just try and catch me…riding your Schwinn! Na, na, na…you can’t catch me.’
The funniest sight of all…is the cop on a Segway. Not only is he wearing a helmet…he’s looking like George Jetson with a badge. Granted, the Segway cop is having more fun than his friend, smelly horse cop.
It seems unfair to label cops with the stereotype that “cops drink coffee and eat donuts all day”…but there must be something to the donut thing. You never hear that “cops drink Chai tea and eat croissants”….never.
For at least one day, I would love to be a cop riding a cruiser. I wouldn’t stop and pull anyone over. I'd just want everyone get out of my way as I parted the streets…on my way to Dunkin Donuts. I might have to turn the lights and siren on…just to add effect.
It must feel great to put the pedal to the metal and blow by us poor saps pretending to obey the speed limit. Sometimes you see a cop cruising down the highway…with their light off…they’ve suddenly come up behind you from out of the blue. You take a quick glance in your rearview and see ‘the Heat’ bearing down on your bumper. Your heart skips a beat…so you move over into the slower lane…knowing your time is up. Then ‘the Enforcer’ flies by…never even looks at you….let alone pulls you over. Whew!! You know what has just happened…you don’t even have to guess. His wife called and said his dinner was getting cold. It’s his favorite….chicken pot pie.
One cop assignment that I would never want is to be a cop on horseback…riding Ole Silver. I get a charge out of cops riding horses in cities like Boston and NYC. I think they look funny sitting up there, especially when the horse lets it go…or starts peeing like Niagara Falls.
A cop on a bike…really gets my gears going. First of all, they look out of place wearing their biker’s helmets and shorts. They look like kids who decided to play “cop-on-bike” for the afternoon. ‘Hey cop…just try and catch me…riding your Schwinn! Na, na, na…you can’t catch me.’
The funniest sight of all…is the cop on a Segway. Not only is he wearing a helmet…he’s looking like George Jetson with a badge. Granted, the Segway cop is having more fun than his friend, smelly horse cop.
It seems unfair to label cops with the stereotype that “cops drink coffee and eat donuts all day”…but there must be something to the donut thing. You never hear that “cops drink Chai tea and eat croissants”….never.
For at least one day, I would love to be a cop riding a cruiser. I wouldn’t stop and pull anyone over. I'd just want everyone get out of my way as I parted the streets…on my way to Dunkin Donuts. I might have to turn the lights and siren on…just to add effect.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Tale of Two Cities
Last week I joined PaulA on a couple of his business trips. I had the opportunity to visit both Boston and NYC in the same week so it was hard not to compare the two cities.
For some reason when I am walking around New York City, I feel like I could be knocked of…mauled…or mangled… at any second. Everyone is a suspect and unlike other people on the streets…I am actually looking at people…staring them down…wondering who is the bad guy. I’m committing faces to memory for when I have to pick them out of a police line-up. I’m also afraid of something falling on my head …ending it right there outside Saks Fifth Avenue. I’m not the “sky is falling Chicken Little” type….this fear is not made up. To prove my point…later in the day I heard on the News that cement fell from a Brooklyn building; smashing the top of a car and just missing the two guys who were getting in it. There you have it…Case in point. Oh, and forget following the people on Canal Street who are hounding you with great deals on designer handbags. I am sure if I followed someone down the street, around the corner and behind the curtain… I might never be heard from again. I’m sure later I would be found…at the bottom of the Hudson River with a “best deal of my life” Channel handbag…not exactly matching my cement shoes.
Boston has a different feel for me than New York City. In Boston, I feel like I am in my own hometown ...just a lot bigger. People actually look at you. They even wait for you to cross the street without trying to run you down, and they even graciously hold the door open so it doesn’t smack you in the face. The only fear I have of falling…is me….falling out my shoes and doing a header…ending in a spread eagle on the sidewalk. Sadly, I have done this before, so this fear is not unfounded. The biggest fear I have when I am visiting Boston is the fear of the Boston accent. “Pahk the cah in Hahvad yahd…that’s a wicked pissah.”
Both cities have incredible restaurants. I love the Northend in Boston with the narrow cobblestone streets and incredible Italian restaurants at every turn… little boys playing stick ball. But NYC takes the sushi when it comes to great restaurants. I love the bustling, crowded streets and trendy shi shi restaurants at every turn …little hoodlums playing “knock off the next unsuspecting tourist .”
Don’t get me wrong… like the famous bumper sticker “I LOVE NEW YORK” …I, too, HEART New York. The two cities are different …but both are great in their own way. They both have so much to offer. I just need to get over my fatalist view of New York. Heck, I know there are bad guys in both cities.
I got to thinking about my worst case scenario: I think it would be if I was in NYC and I was approached by a bad guy who said: “Fohk ovah ya cash. Whatayou retahdid? This is a frickin stick-up. This ain’t no frickin Bawstin. This is New Yahk.”
I’m not sure which is worse…the action or the accent.
For some reason when I am walking around New York City, I feel like I could be knocked of…mauled…or mangled… at any second. Everyone is a suspect and unlike other people on the streets…I am actually looking at people…staring them down…wondering who is the bad guy. I’m committing faces to memory for when I have to pick them out of a police line-up. I’m also afraid of something falling on my head …ending it right there outside Saks Fifth Avenue. I’m not the “sky is falling Chicken Little” type….this fear is not made up. To prove my point…later in the day I heard on the News that cement fell from a Brooklyn building; smashing the top of a car and just missing the two guys who were getting in it. There you have it…Case in point. Oh, and forget following the people on Canal Street who are hounding you with great deals on designer handbags. I am sure if I followed someone down the street, around the corner and behind the curtain… I might never be heard from again. I’m sure later I would be found…at the bottom of the Hudson River with a “best deal of my life” Channel handbag…not exactly matching my cement shoes.
Boston has a different feel for me than New York City. In Boston, I feel like I am in my own hometown ...just a lot bigger. People actually look at you. They even wait for you to cross the street without trying to run you down, and they even graciously hold the door open so it doesn’t smack you in the face. The only fear I have of falling…is me….falling out my shoes and doing a header…ending in a spread eagle on the sidewalk. Sadly, I have done this before, so this fear is not unfounded. The biggest fear I have when I am visiting Boston is the fear of the Boston accent. “Pahk the cah in Hahvad yahd…that’s a wicked pissah.”
Both cities have incredible restaurants. I love the Northend in Boston with the narrow cobblestone streets and incredible Italian restaurants at every turn… little boys playing stick ball. But NYC takes the sushi when it comes to great restaurants. I love the bustling, crowded streets and trendy shi shi restaurants at every turn …little hoodlums playing “knock off the next unsuspecting tourist .”
Don’t get me wrong… like the famous bumper sticker “I LOVE NEW YORK” …I, too, HEART New York. The two cities are different …but both are great in their own way. They both have so much to offer. I just need to get over my fatalist view of New York. Heck, I know there are bad guys in both cities.
I got to thinking about my worst case scenario: I think it would be if I was in NYC and I was approached by a bad guy who said: “Fohk ovah ya cash. Whatayou retahdid? This is a frickin stick-up. This ain’t no frickin Bawstin. This is New Yahk.”
I’m not sure which is worse…the action or the accent.
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